Exactly three hours later we entered the cafeteria. I was met by your average after school fighting ring. White uniforms holding trays with small bottles of alcohol, the rest with their shirts off and face paint to show what ranking they were. Grunts and hoots and cheers rung through the air, and as I walked forward I felt hands groping my body. They ripped my clothes off and rubbed white paint over my torso, arms, legs, face, and groin.
Ryland told me this would happen. And that I had to keep calm and let it happen. Let it happen or these hands would become violent and I wouldn't even get a chance to make it to the ring.
Tarzan had gone through this practice already. Wearing only school provided boxers he stood in the center of the ring covered in orange handprints and smears.
"TAR-ZAN! TAR-ZAN! HOO HOO HOO!"
He arched his back and let out a howl, repeatedly pumping his fists.
"Hey Tarzie! How's it feel to be a cock sucker again?"
The crowd's excitement grew louder as Tarzan jumped onto the tables and ran around.
"HEY HEY HEEEY! COME OUT AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE YOU TIT LICKER!"
A man with a paint stepped out. He was above Tarzan's level. Like a switch the cheers changed from support for Tarzan to jeers and mocking cries about his loss.
"Ohh, just you wait fucker, I'll see you again."
With that, he faced me. By now my paint job was finished and I was allowed to step into the ring. Ryland had said that the time before the fight was used to rank up support. If you get support from higher ranked fighters, you have an easier time when the three weeks are over.
"LOOK WHO IT ISSSS! THE WHINEY BITCH WHO CHOKED GHOSTIE! OOOH OOOH MOMMY HELP ME! I'M SOOOOO SCARED!"
The crowd roared. This guy knew how to rank support. Spending more time at the school gave him an image. An image he knew how to play well.
"'Least I'm not a fuckin' animal, you nasty ass monkey. I didn't take an epic loss and crash down to the bottom with the cock suckers. At least I have the balls to go against a horny, pale ass mutt and survive through it."
I cracked my fist. One finger after another made a satisfying crack-crack-crack sound.
"EAT SHIT WHITEY!" "KICK HIS ASS TARZAN!" "SHUDDUP OR IMA GET DOWN THERE AND BEAT YO' ASS NEXT!"
Yeah, people liked Tarzan, but people also didn't like Tarzan. This meant they liked me.
"CHOKE HIM WHITEY!" "CHOKE, CHOKE, CHOKE!" "STRANGLE THAT MOTHERFUCKER!"
"ALLLLLLLLRIGHT CHESHIRE! WE ARE BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH OUR FAN-FAVORITE TARRRRRRRZAAAAAAAAN! AGAINST HIM WE HAVE NEW RECRUIT WHITEYYYYYYYYY! LET'S SEE IF THAT PUNISHING GRIP OF HIS WILL LEAVE US BREATHLESS!"
The crowd was going strong as ever, but all my focus laid on the twitching animal in front of me. The feeling of his blood under my fists, the sound of his bones cracking? I could almost feel myself getting hard.
"LET US BEGIN! STARTING IN THREE..."
"CHOKE HIM!" "BITE HIS ASS!" "LET'S GO WHITEYYY!" "MAKE HIM EAT HIS WORDS TARZAN!"
"I LOVE YOU TARZAN!" "SNAP HIS NECK WHITEY!" "JUSTICE FOR OUR GOD GHOST!"
"ONEEEEE! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIIIIIIGHT!"
He charged first, meeting my face with a solid hook. Wrapping a wrist in his hair, I pulled myself up and brought a knee right on his nose. It cracked, blood rushing down and getting all over my fist.
A mouth attached itself to my neck and two thumbs pressed into my eyes. Reeling back, I roared.
"OHHH? WHAT'S THIS? GOING FOR THE PUNISHING BITE ALREADY? WHITEY JUST BROKE RESIDENT TREE FUCKER'S NOSE AND IT'S ONLY THE FIRST MINUTE!"
Temporarily blind, I reached a hand out and grabbed the closest thing to me. A fistful of grainy hair. Bringing my other palm, I slammed the heel of my hand between his eyes once, twice. I got punched in the stomach, and Tarzan pushed me down.
A rain of punches landed on my face and arms. Barely able to see, I slowly nudged my knee up until it was slighting resting on his groin.
No mercy. Pulling it back, I sent my knee up hard, crushing his little tarzan.
"OH OH OHHHH? DID YOU ALL SEE THAT? I COULD FEEL THAT FROM UP HERE! WE HAVE A GROIN HIT FROM WHITEY! TALK ABOUT ONE KIIIIIINKY MOTHERFUCKER! TELL YOUR LITTLE BOYS TO WATCH THE FUCK OUT!"
Tarzan finally rolled over, curling up into a ball to protect his crushed jewels. This was my chance to roll onto him and make him cry out.
Punch, punch, grab the hair, slam the head, punch, punch, slam.
This process repeated again and again and again until I felt the giant man go limp in my arms. Once I was sure he was knocked out cold, I leaned back and took a final, shuddering breath.
"AND...WE...HAVE...A...WINNER! THAT'S RIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS! WHITEY THE SEXUAL SADIST HAS BEEN LABELED THE WIIIIIINNER OF THIS FIGHT!"
Looking at the man under me covered in blood was exhilarating. Reaching out my thumb, I licked some of his it off. The audience was screaming now.
"THE NEW RANKING CHANGES WILL BE UP SOON! WHILE YOUR WAITING, BE SURE TO CHECK OUT OUR NEWEST, HOTTEST MATCH... PUNISHER VERSUSSSSSSSS GHOOOOOOOOOOST!"
If they were loud during our match, they were deafening now. Ghost was really a celebrity for these kids.
After the match and congratulations, I was given an orange uniform and told my gifts would be sent to my room.
From there I washed the paint off and crawled into bed. I was woken by Rio later for a checkup and a curt nod from Ryland. It's only been a day, but I don't actually mind having to be sandwiched between these morons. Especially now that both beds have been pushed together.
The next day my earnings arrived. Tarzan had been a popular fighter, so a lot of people saw my match. The gifts ranged from money and car keys to ball gags and dirty underwear.
At the bottom of the shit was a black, crumpled up ball. Pulling it out I found a doodle of a ghost in white crayon and a little note.
'Loved your fight darling. Gave me jacking material for daaaays. Can't wait until it's me under you instead of Ricky.'
The proceeding events happened in sequence: eating the note, throwing it up, and then throwing out the underwear.